


Going the Distance

by popfly



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M, gapfiller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-23
Updated: 2004-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-09 06:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popfly/pseuds/popfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gapfiller for season four, episode fourteen. Brian finishes the bike race, and asks Justin to move in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going the Distance

I sucked in another breath of frigid air, my lungs burning. The back of my throat felt raw and there were white-hot bolts of pain shooting from my neck to the fingertips of my left hand. I clenched my teeth against the pain and adjusted my grip on the handlebars of my bicycle, trying to steady myself. Another rider passed me by, and this one was wearing a boa for fuck’s sake, and I tried not to let my eyes linger on his retreating back for too long. I caught Mikey looking back over his shoulder at me for the thousandth time and I wished I had two good hands so that I could use one to flip him off. Although if I had two good hands I suppose he wouldn’t be shooting me looks every three fucking seconds. If he wasn’t so far away I would make a face at him. Then again my mouth was so occupied grimacing that I don’t know if I could have managed an expression that wouldn’t make him more worried. So instead I focused on the rutted, uneven stretch of cement that was rolling along underneath me and tried my damndest not to fall of my fucking bike, again.

My wheel hit a bump and, despite the shocks on my ridiculously expensive bike, I felt it in every nerve in my body, and I started to wonder if maybe refusing to load up on painkillers was such a good idea after all. My arm hurt like a motherfucker.

I tried to push through it, pedal faster, catch up to the other riders as they disappeared over the crest of a hill. But soon I was alone on my length of road, trying to blank my mind and concentrate on the task at hand. That’s when I saw it. Or him. Or me.

Me. Standing on the side of the road. Weight balanced on one hip, arms crossed, a sardonic sneer on my face. I barely had time to register how fucking weird it was that I was imagining myself (after I noted that I look hot even in Lycra and this fucking ugly ass helmet) before I saw the person on my right. This time it was Justin. Which was obviously a hallucination because Justin was currently living the life in La-La Land. And even if he wasn’t he wouldn’t be standing there in a sweater and a pea coat, he’d be in a get-up like mine, pedaling away next to me. But this Justin, my image of Justin, was waving and smiling and clapping and cheering me on. Which, okay, he’d probably be doing whether it was on the sidelines or not.

Because Justin wanted me to succeed, to finish the race.

I fought my way up the incline and was greeted by the sight of Mikey riding towards me. I thought maybe this was another apparition, but the look of suffocating concern on his face was a stark reality, and I hung my head a little, knowing what was coming. When he came around behind me I gave him my best “what now?” face, but he didn’t even blink. I slowed down and came to a stop on the shoulder, Mikey pulling up alongside.

“That’s it, I’m calling for help.”

“The fuck you are. Would you just go on and ride with your husband?” I didn’t want him watching me for another however the fuck many miles we had to go. I didn’t want his pity following me all the way back to Pittsburgh. I groped and fumbled in my jacket pocket for my cigarettes and my lighter.

“And leave you alone?”

I refrained from heaving a sigh, not even sure if I could get my lungs to expand far enough. I had a brief thought that maybe I shouldn’t be smoking. I dismissed it. “I’m fine.”

“I can see that. I’m staying here with you.”

Great. Just what I needed. I tried to hold my hand steady as I pulled a cigarette from my pack with my lips. I quelled the anger and the annoyance that rose up because I had to put that much effort into having a fucking smoke and tucked the pack away again. I didn’t grace Mikey with a response. I pressed the button on my lighter, but nothing happened. I did it again, still nothing. The third time the flame leapt up and I leaned forward to touch it to the tip of the cigarette, but the wind blew it out before I had a chance. And I couldn’t use my other hand to shield it. Fucking fuck.

“Why are you doing this?” Michael asks, and I can feel him staring at me. Again, I didn’t answer. He wouldn’t listen anyway. He’d be too busy thinking whatever the fuck he wanted to think. “To show everyone what a hero you are? That despite insurmountable odds the Great Kinney can cross the finish line with one arm tied behind his back?”

“In front of my back,” I corrected around my cigarette, gesturing with my other hand. I hoped that by being facetious I could convince Michael to shut the fuck up. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. He corrected himself and went on.

“You’ve already proved yourself. You’ve raised a hundred thousand dollars for the hospice, what more do you need to do?”

“Jesus,” I said, trying again to light the lighter. “It’s not about the money.” Didn’t anyone get it? Anyone besides Justin, that is.

“What is it about, killing yourself?” Michael tried to grab the lighter from me but I snatched it away.

“Would you fuck off? I can do it.” I tried again to get my cigarette lit, swallowing down the panicky feeling that was closing up my throat. How could I make him understand that I wasn’t just talking about getting my lighter lit? That it was bigger than that. “Did you ever see that story on TV about the women that had cancer?”

I took the cigarette out of my mouth and almost shredded it, but just held it in the circle of my fingers instead. Then I told him about the women who went to boot camp and did all the crazy shit while some maniac screamed his head off at them, and he just watched me talk and I didn’t know if he was getting it or not, but I had to tell him because after I watched it I realized that the Liberty Ride and the spinning classes before that were my boot camp, and I was my own former Luftwaffe drill sergeant, pushing myself harder and harder. I told Mikey about the woman who comes out of the swamp at the end and laughs. “Laughs,” I repeated, chuckling a little myself, remembering the look on her face. “And she says, ‘If I can survive this, I can survive anything’.”

Justin had made me watch it. I remember queening out about him wanting to watch Lifetime on my television, and then about him wanting me to waste two hours of my life watching Lifetime, and then he’d given me that look that he gives me that I can’t say no to, and I heaved a sigh and plopped onto the couch next to him, resigned to my fate. I remember how I felt at the end, how I had looked at Justin sitting next to me on the couch and raised an eyebrow. How Justin had kissed me, held my face in his hands. How he had gotten it.

Mikey was silent for a moment.

“Come on.” I looked up and he was frowning, his jaw set. I felt a small sweep of relief and put away the cigarette and the lighter. Then I lifted one foot onto the pedal and groaned. Mikey pushed a little on my handlebars to get me going and then we set off. And it felt okay. Aside from the blinding pain, of course.

*****

I stopped in the doorway to Connor’s bedroom and smiled a little. Connor was sprawled on his back in bed, the sheets covering him from the waist down, and he lifted a hand. “Last night was great. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

I started to say something about how I was going home and I probably _wouldn’t_ see him around unless he got the part and we ended up seeing each other at the premier or something. Then I thought about Brett’s offer. It was an amazing opportunity. The chance to have a hand in getting my creation onto the big screen. I rapped my knuckles on the door jamb and nodded. “Yeah. See you around.”

I tried to open the door to Brett’s as slowly as possible, not wanting to disturb anyone. It was still early. I prayed that my shoes wouldn’t squeak on the tile like they did on Brian’s hardwood floors. They didn’t, but it didn’t matter anyway, because when I entered the kitchen Brett was standing at the counter, his back to me. He barely looked up, just offered me coffee.

“I didn’t think you’d be up.” I almost blushed. Then again, Brett was the one who left the two of us together. Surely he didn’t think we’d just have a drink and call it a night.

“Are you kidding? I’ve already worked out with my trainer,” he handed me the mug, “made ten calls to New York, read two scripts _and_ the trades.” I laughed a little, impressed. I wondered what time he got in last night. He passed behind me, reaching out to shake a box of rolls from some place whose name I can’t pronounce. “Best bread on the planet. Fuck the carbs.”

I smiled at that. If Brian was there he’d have something to say about that. I took one out, setting it on a napkin on the counter.

“So, how was your evening?” I lifted the mug to my mouth and took a sip. “Did Connor take good care of you?”

I grinned. “Yeah, he’s a cool guy.”

“And hot.”

I shrugged a little. He was nice, sure. But nothing special in bed. He made odd noises when he came. Then again, any noise that isn’t Brian’s is odd to me.

“Does Brian know about your extra-marital activities?"

I almost scoffed. “We’re not married.” I picked at my roll. “Brian detests marriage.”

“That’s a unique position to take when every fag on Earth wants to say ‘I do’.”

“We’d rather say ‘I don’t’.” The old familiar lines played in my head, the ones I’d heard so often I had them memorized, and I parroted them to Brett. “That way we can be together because we want to be, not because we have to be.” We’re not like your parents. There are no locks on our doors.

“How very Rage-ian.”

I laughed through my nose. I liked Brett, but he was such an incredible dork.

“You better get packed.” He stood and picked his cell phone up off of the counter. “There’ll be a car here in an hour to take you to the airport.”

I passed him by, thinking about going back to Pittsburgh, going home to Brian, and about telling Connor that I’d see him around, implying that I’d be around. And I decided, right that moment, that I was going to do it. I turned back to Brett. “By the way, I’ve thought about your offer.” Brett looked up. “I really appreciate it.”

He gestured with his phone. “But . . .”

I did quick run through of the pros and cons and took a deep breath. “There is no ‘but’. I wanna do it. So I’m coming back.” It was out. I couldn’t take it back. I nodded decisively and turned to leave. I stepped out into the sunshine. And it felt good.

I got home just in time for the big finish. Just in time for Deb to tell me that Brian is injured, but fine, and decided to finish the race. Ben pulled me aside while Deb was plying Hunter with every kind of juice you can name and told me that Brian broke his clavicle and was riding one handed from practically the border. And that Michael was with him. My heart was pounding and my head was spinning and Ben put a large, strong arm around my shoulders. “He’s going to be okay. He’s a fighter.”

“I know,” I said, half to convince Ben that I knew, and half to convince myself. Brian was a fighter. He was strong, stronger than anyone thought. If anyone could ride a bike for hundreds of miles one handed, it was Brian. That didn’t stop me from being worried out of my mind.

We stood there at the finish line for hours. There was vague talk of LA and Ben and Michael’s wedding, but none of us felt up to telling stories, so most of the time we were just silent. Ben paced and dialed Michael’s cell non-stop. Hunter squatted nearby, tracing shapes in the snow that was dusting the street. Deb brought us coffee in cardboard to-go cups, and it tasted like shit, as usual, but it was hot and comforting and gave me something to hold on to. Deb wrung her mittened hands and stared off into the distance. Salt trucks rolled past and volunteers packed tables into the beds of pick-ups and went home to their families.

When Ben’s cell phone rang Debbie’s eyes snapped to his and they stared at each other while he said a rushed hello. Hunter stood at my shoulder, and he looked as anxious as the rest of us, and I smiled a little at that. Ben’s face fell, then lit up again, and he moved the phone away from his mouth.

“Melanie had the baby.”

There was an uproar about that, and I took my hand away from Deb’s shoulder so she could hug Ben, and brushed the snow from my hair. I felt badly that I didn’t feel like celebrating, but I was too busy being scared shitless to do more than hold the phone to my ear just long enough to tell Lindsay to tell Mel congratulations.

An hour later the excitement had died down.

Ben shook his head at his phone and threw up one hand. “I still can’t get through to them.”

“I’m starting to get worried.” Deb held her coffee cup to her chest and furrowed her eyebrows. I held her a little closer. “Actually I started getting worried four hours ago.”

Ben pressed redial again and sighed, looking at Debbie. I spoke aloud a thought that had been running through my head for awhile. “Maybe we should go out searching.”

Then Hunter shouted “Look!” and I followed the line of his finger to the two figures that had just rounded the corner. I saw one blinking blue-light and one orange-yellow one, and it almost doesn’t hit me at first that it’s them. Then I heard Deb suck in a breath and the bicycles came into sharp focus in the circle of the streetlight. Michael was following Brian, one arm outstretched in case he should fall. I went forward without thinking and Debbie yelled behind me.

“No!” I turned to look at her, the rush of my blood in my ears and my thoughts swirling like the snow had been earlier. “Let him finish.” I turned back and fought the threat of tears as I watched Brian struggling forward. I mouthed his name, trying to send him vibes, a telepathic fucking message, anything to let him know that I was there, that I was waiting for him, that I believed in him, that I knew he could cross the finish line. That I always have.

*****

I stopped and dropped my foot to the ground, and it slid a little in the snow. Michael put his hand on my back. “Come on.”

I leaned forward over the handlebars. My chest was heaving and I couldn’t fucking breathe. My whole body ached and I was so fucking tired. And I couldn’t. “I can’t,” I said, my head bobbing with the effort of just taking in air. 

“We’re almost there.” Michael leaned closer to me and pressed a little harder on my back.

“Fuck it,” I gasped. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t go another inch. I failed. “Just fuck it.”

I pressed my left arm to my body and tried to catch my breath, but it just got shallower and shallower. I couldn’t finish the race, after I’d come so fucking far, and the worst part was that I was worried about what Justin was going to think. I looked up to see how far away I was and then I saw him. And it wasn’t my imagination, he was really standing there. Ben and Deb and Hunter were there too, but all I could see was Justin. Justin waiting for me, waiting for me to push myself just that much more, waiting for me to come to him. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the pain away and then looking up again. Justin tapped what looked like a to-go cup against the palm of his hand and bounced a little on the balls of his feet and I sat up a little straighter. Mikey took his hand away from my back and I wavered for a moment before propelling myself forward a few feet with my toes. I grimaced and groaned and got my foot onto the pedal and pushed on it, my muscles protesting. I ignored them and kept my legs moving, wobbling slowly towards Justin.

Ben started to cheer, and then Hunter, and Debbie shouted too, and then I heard Justin yell “Come on” and I pressed a little harder, bit down a little more and finally, finally crossed under the banner. Debbie and Hunter grabbed my handlebars and I tilted sideways until my shoulder hit something solid. I looked over and it was Justin, his eyes wet and his lips pulled tight. I sat back on my seat as everyone hugged around us.

“I could kill you for doing this,” he said, but there was no anger in his voice, just relief and the remnants of fear, and yes, love.

“I almost saved you the trouble,” I said, letting him know that I was okay, reassuring him with my snark, trying to convey to him that the race, the fight, was over.

We went home and I let him wash my hair in the sink and run a soapy washcloth over my chest and my back, and I was too sore, too tired to even notice when he lingered on my dick. I slept from the moment my head hit the pillow until we had to get up the next day for the check presentation and the hospice re-naming. When we got back I crashed out on a cushion on the floor with music filling in my head so that I didn’t have to think, and I ended up dreaming of Vic again. We levitated, and he told me god is gay, and then I woke up with a jolt of pain in my arm and I moaned and pulled out my ear buds.

“You okay?” Justin was at the computer, probably checking his e-mail, and I wanted to ask him about LA but I didn’t.

“Yeah, I’ll be alright. I heard it from the best authority.” I pushed my iPod away as Justin came to lay down next to me. I rolled to my side to face him and he settled in, his face inches from mine. A million questions whizzed through my mind, and I focused on the one that was probably expected and asked.

“So, did you fuck Tom Cruise?”

There was a flash of something in Justin’s eyes, and yeah, he was waiting for it. “Everyone knows he’s not gay.”

“Adrian Brody?” I asked. I didn’t care if he did stick his tongue down Halle Berry’s throat.

“Nice, but alas.”

I smacked my lips. “Tobey Maguire.”

“Please.”

“What?” He was totally Justin’s type. And there was no way he wasn’t gay. Justin leaned forward and put his mouth to my ear.

“Connor James."

“No shit.” I chuckled, picturing him in my head, the thousands of photos of him with various women.

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like you had a most excellent adventure.” I smiled and hoped it reached my eyes.

“Sounds like you did too,” he said. I let him change the subject.

“Bicycling down life’s endless highways I had time to think.”

“Oh?”

He looked a little hopeful and my heart gave an extra hard thud in my chest. I batted my lashes and made doe-eyes at him. “About what I’d do differently if I survived cancer.” I let my voice drop back to its normal octave. “And sleeping in tents.”

“Equally unpleasant, I agree. But now that you have, what did you decide?”

I looked him in the eyes, first one then the other then back, and my breath came a little faster. What I had decided was that I wanted him to move back in. I wanted his stuff in my space, his body in my bed. Every night, not just some. But now that the time had come to express it I was freezing up. I stalled for time.

“First thing I’d do,” I said, scrambling to think of something. “Is the bedroom.” I pointed to divert Justin’s attention from my face, and he rolled away. “Get rid of that thing over the bed.”

“Yeah, it’s very nineties, I agree.” His tone was flat and he stood, crossing to the counter. I knew he was hoping for more, and I tried to think of something more meaningful that wouldn’t make me entirely vulnerable.

“And then I’d like to spend more time with my son. He’s at an age now when he needs a strong, masculine influence. Especially being raised by a couple of dykes.” I pushed to my feet and swallowed hard. “He’s got to know about Armani.” I crossed behind Justin, and the resolve I felt earlier, the certainty that Justin had to move back in, was ebbing, being replaced by plain old fear. That I would never be able to take that extra step. Maybe the race wasn’t over after all. I kept talking. “Gucci. Prada. Not just football and engine tuning.” I pulled open the fridge. I stared at the poppers, the Evian, the beer. The lone Styrofoam take-out container from the diner. I imagined orange juice and heads of lettuce and Justin’s yogurt on the half-empty shelves. I grabbed a beer.

“Unquestionably. Any other decisions?”

I stood in front of him and popped open the can. He was giving me an open, and I had to take it. It was my last chance. I had to do it now or it would never happen. I swallowed down the doubt that had formed a lump in my throat and lifted the can to my lips. “I want you to move back in.”

“Huh?”

I took a drink and swallowed. “I said I’d like it if we were to live together.”

Justin scoffed a laugh, and I had the fleeting worry that he was going to say no. “Are you proposing?”

Little shit. He knew this wasn’t easy for me, did he have to make light of it? I almost said something nasty, but decided against it, and instead went for a matter-of-fact “Of course not.” Justin covered his face and rubbed his cheeks, sorry, I’m sure, that he even made the comment. “With the sudden unexpected plethora of gay marriages, I’d hate to add to the glut.” I leaned on the counter next to him and caught his eyes. “All this running back in forth between here and Daphne’s is time consuming, not to mention inconvenient. I mean, just last week you forgot your socks and had to borrow a pair of mine.” I smiled remembering how hesitant he had been. And how my socks had looked on him, hanging off of his toes as he pulled on his sneakers. I felt the clenching in my chest even then, and it had nothing to do with my broken bone and had everything to do with the all-consuming need for Justin to say he’d move back in. But he still looked skeptical. So I took a different tack. “As for the times when you’re not here, I wouldn’t particularly mind it if you were.” I watched him rub behind his ear the way he does when he’s feeling unsure, and I wanted to shake him. Ask him if he knew how much it took for me to say that much. But of course he knew. He knew. So I just sat and watched him.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that since the first night you brought me here.”

I dropped my eyes to the counter top and fought back a smile, because that wasn’t a yes. I looked back up when I thought I could tone down my eagerness. “So what do you say? Should I make room in my drawers for your drawers?” He opened his mouth and I got to my feet, standing behind him and running a palm over the crown of his head, down his neck. He didn’t speak, didn’t speak, and I thought my heart was going to stop completely. My fingers gripped the back of his chair and I stared at the collar of his shirt.

“Brian,” he started, and I heard it in his voice, and my lungs constricted and my hand fell away from the chair and I knew then that he was going to say no. I backed away, and he stood up, practically twirling around and lunging at me. He grabbed my hand and held it in front of him, brushing his thumb against my knuckles and I tried to put on my mask, I tried, but I didn’t think I was doing a very good job, and when he looked up at me I knew I wasn’t because I could see in his face that he knew I was hurting. “I took a job in LA.”

I heard the words, but I didn’t immediately register them, and then I was the one asking a stunned “Huh?”

“Brett offered me a job as assistant art director on Rage and I accepted it. I’m going back to LA.”

I pulled my hand away and sidestepped him, going back for my beer. After I chugged half the can I felt like I could face him again. “When?”

“We’re not entirely sure. Soon though.”

I nodded, pressing my lips together. He didn’t say no. He was making a face, something like disappointment and I came around the counter, standing in front of him with my arm limp at my side. “Congratulations. That’ll be a good experience.”

He looked up at me and his face fell and then his arms were around my waist and his face was burrowing into my neck and his breath was hot on my skin. “I want to say yes, you know that right?”

He was squashing my arm a little and it hurt but I didn’t push him away. I nodded, my jaw ruffling his hair, and I held onto his shoulder with my good hand. He took a few breaths and pulled back a little. I watched him watch me and I gave him a small smile. “What about when you come back?”

“I want to come back here,” he said, no hesitation, and he kissed me hard enough to bruise as if to emphasize his point.

“Why don’t we move your stuff here before you leave and then when you come home you can come _home_.”

He stared at me wide-eyed before grinning and kissing me again. “That’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”

I smirked a little, feeling light and happy. “Well, you know, I try.”

He let me suck on his tongue and press my hips against him and then he kissed my cheek and the hollow below my ear. “I get it Brian.”

I lowered my mouth to the curve where his neck meets his shoulder and spoke against the material of his shirt. “I know.”


End file.
